In a dim room above the freightyards, next to an old brass bed, an angel is taking off his wings. He winces a little as he eases the straps that run down into his chest: the beat of the wings is the beat of the heart.

They come in many sizes—small and faint, loud and 
thunderous. And it’s a problem, what to do with them,
they won’t rise up to heaven where ears have the power